Page 42 of The Billionaires' Gamble

“Shocker,” Gabe mutters.

She huffs a laugh.

“Why is she on your case now?” I ask. “Your birthday is in October.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes her chair back. Circling the island, she opens a half dozen cabinets until she finds a bowl. “Because my grandfather changed the stipulations of the trust.”

“What? When?” That’s the most Henry Chanler thing ever.

She shrugs, disappearing into the pantry and returning a moment later with a box of cereal.

Gabe inhales deeply. “What’s the new stipulation?”

She pours a heap of sugar-coated flakes, takes a deep breath and puts the box down. Only then does she turn and look at us. “I have to be married before my twenty-fifth birthday.”

15

GABE

My perfect morning deflates like a balloon.

What the fuck just happened?

Am I in the middle of a nightmare?

I swear I woke up, took my shower, pulled on a pair of jeans, and came downstairs looking for everyone, and now Katherine has to be married to gain her inheritance? Seriously. What the fuck?

My pulse roars in my ears.

“How long—” God, I don’t want to know the answer to this, do I? But I ask anyway, because we’ve already established that Henry was a son-of-a-bitch and Katherine was groomed in his image. Just how far did the apple fall from the tree? “When did you find out?”

There’s something about her demeanor that makes me think the discovery was recent.

She moves to the refrigerator and pulls out a half-gallon of milk. “The night before the auction.”

Why is she so calm? Why is King so calm?

I place my coffee cup on the counter because my fingers are going numb. No, my whole body is going numb. It’s like someone snipped my spinal cord or something. My nerveendings are just gone. And the only thing left of me is the static in my brain.

The night before the auction.

That explains so much.

“So you were husband hunting.” Of course.

A bitter laugh bubbles up my throat. Of course she was.

The milk carton drops to the counter with a thud. She turns toward me, arms coming up, crossing tightly over her chest. She probably doesn’t mean to shove her tits up like they’re on a silver platter, but then again, maybe it’s all part of the act.

Fuck, I hate the doubt worming its way through my mind, but I can’t stop it. It’s like a virus chewing its way through me. She stares at me, and I stare right back.

“Her mother signed her up for that auction,” King says, his voice calm, like he’s a hostage negotiator.

I shrug off his touch. Of course he’s going to side with her. And I wouldn’t expect any less.

Did someone turn the heat on? Why am I sweating?

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. But it does.